Blurred World
by starbuckmeggie
Summary: Just some moments in between...
1. Chapter 1

My eyes open, and I blink a few times, trying to get my bearings. I feel a body shift against mine, and the entire night suddenly flashes back to me.

I had sex with Monica. Repeatedly. And wonderfully.

Wow.

Just…wow.

And she's the body next to me, which is even more wow. Her soft curves are pressed against me, her back molded to my front.

I tentatively stroke her shoulder, careful not to wake her. She sighs, but doesn't stir.

She looks even more beautiful now than she did a few hours ago. I don't know how that's possible, but it's true.

This woman let me worship her for hours tonight; she let me do things I've never dared imagine before. Well, maybe I'd imagined them a little. Maybe I'd even imagined them a little with her. I just never really thought it would happen for me.

But here she is, her breathing deep and even in the dark hotel room, a room that will be one of my favorite places in the world for the rest of time.

Just holding her is magnificent. I wasn't expecting that. I usually like my own space when I sleep. Not with Monica, apparently. I feel like I can't get close enough.

Everything about this night was perfect.

That first time…I think I put on a good show of being confident and in control of the situation, but inside I was scared senseless. I just _knew_ I was going to screw it up somehow. That's why I dragged out the foreplay for as long as I could.

Not that it was any hardship on my end.

Putting my mouth all over her body, feeling her respond to my touch, quivering under my hands…there's nothing that can rival it.

Well, maybe one thing.

But she is, without a doubt, the most fantastic, most beautiful, sexiest, loveliest creature I've ever been with, and not just because of tonight. She's always phenomenal. Always. I love being around her; I love being _near_ her. I just never imagined that I'd get to do _this_.

Okay, I imagined it. But I honestly never thought it'd be a reality. It still doesn't feel like it really happened, despite the sore muscles and exhaustion in my limbs.

If I had the energy, I'd wake her up right now and go again.

I'd be happy with just being able to kiss her right now. As we established earlier, kissing her is one of the best things I've ever experienced. I feel like I could do that for hours and only stop because I needed chapstick.

But sex with her…making love to her…could I do that forever? Is that possible? I've never felt anything like it before in my life. I've never felt like I just fit with someone, literally and metaphorically. And I've _really_ never felt like I was that good at sex until tonight, either. But when a woman moans your name, when she won't _stop_ moaning your name, when she screams and claws at your back and keeps coming back for more, when she tells you once isn't going to be enough…well, I sure as hell felt like I was doing something right. And I'm almost completely sure that she didn't fake anything.

It was amazing. I want to feel like that forever. The whole night has been incredible; even the first time, which when compared the rest of the night was awkward and fumbly, was still the best sex I've ever had.

Of course, just until we had sex again. Then that moved to the number one spot. Each time was better than the last.

That last time was pretty intense, though. I don't know how I managed to have sex that many times in one night, and it'll probably never happen again, but that last time…lucky number seven.

It was unlike anything else. I want to live in that moment forever.

She makes a soft noise suddenly and shifts against me and I pause, waiting to see what'll happen. She stretches a little and turns over, draping her arm across my chest.

She blinks up at me sleepily, not looking at all surprised to see me. A tiny smile graces her lips and she stretches up to me, our faces close, our breath mingling. I raise my hand and caress her cheek for a moment before I pull her lips to mine and we kiss each other slowly, with no purpose other than to kiss. She makes a tiny noise in the back of her throat that sounds like a whimper, and once again I desperately wish that I had more energy because I would love to have sex with just one more time. Her hand slides up to my neck, pulling me closer, kissing me deeper for a few moments, before we mutually slow down, kissing slowly once more, gently.

I sigh and give her lips a few more pecks before she settles back against me, her head nestled against my shoulder, her arm draped across me, her fingers gently stroking my hip. She slides her leg over mine and I feel myself shudder. I wrap my arms around her, trying to get closer, the feel of her naked skin against mine completely unreal and glorious.

I feel her breathing deeply, sound asleep once more, and my eyelids start to grow heavy. I try to fight it—I want so badly to savor this moment—but between the jetlag and the massive amounts of sex I've had tonight, my body is crying out for a couple more hours of sleep.

I give her another gentle squeeze and let my eyes drift shut, feeling more at peace than I have in a very long time.

* * *

><p>*AN...this was intended to be a one-shot (hence the title...just a moment in between), but I have a few bits and pieces of small moments from TWWF that will wind up here eventually. BUT...here's where I would like your help, if you're willing. What did I miss? What did you want to see that I didn't remember to put in? Think of this sort of like a Choose Your Own Adventure. Like I said, if you're game. I just keep coming up with things and needed somewhere to put it, and I know some of you had ideas that I never got to put in. Any input you want to give will be loved!


	2. Chapter 2

Even after Joey's comment about letting the "lovebirds get back down to business," Rachel managed to drag me over to Joey's apartment so Monica and Chandler could…

Ewwwww.

Eww eww eww.

"Ewwwww."

"Just don't think about it," Joey tells me.

"Yeah, it's not like you share a wall with them or anything," Rachel adds, and I glare at her.

"I know," Joey agrees, gesturing toward Rachel. "They can get pretty—"

"I'm begging you not to finish that sentence," I break in, shuddering.

Joey just rolls his eyes at me and goes over to his fridge, grabbing out a couple of beers.

"I thought you were happy for them," Rachel reminds me, sitting down on the couch, and I slump down next to her.

"Well, yeah, I guess I am. But it's just weird, you know? I mean, it's _Chandler_ and my little sister." I feel myself shudder a little again.

"You know, she was really supportive when _we_ got together, and that had to be a little weird for her, too. Her brother and her best friend?"

I just shrug, trying to process it all, and Joey hands me a beer before sitting down in his chair with a sigh. "I guess. But she didn't have to find out about you and me by seeing us ripping each other's clothes off through the apartment window."

"No, we did it the subtle way and made out in front of all of our friends."

I fiddle with the label on my beer bottle for a few minutes. Chandler and Monica. My best friend and my little sister. How on earth did this happen? All these years and _now_ they decide to hook up?

Fall in love.

That's what they said—they love each other.

I really don't even know how to process that. I mean, that's HUGE. And the look on Chandler's face when Monica said that she loves him…I don't know if I've ever seen him look that happy.

"Hey, you said you guys have known for a while…how long is 'a while'?"

Joey's eyes grow wide as he sputters, so I figure it must have been some time. But Rachel finally says, "_Technically_, they didn't know that I knew about them. I found out by accident. So, I've only known for about a month."

"I found out by accident, too!" Joey exclaims. "It wasn't like they were running around telling people."

"Joey…how long _have_ you known?"

He shrugs, shifting uncomfortably. "I don't know. Not long. Just…maybe…four or five months?"

I actually jump up for a few moments, shocked. "They've been together that long?!"

"Actually, they've been together for eight months," Rachel says, clamping a hand over her mouth a moment later.

"_Eight months_? How have they been together for _eight months_?"

"Ross, calm down," Rachel tells me, and I look over at Joey for back-up; he's less-than-skillfully avoiding my gaze.

"How am I supposed to calm down? They've been keeping an entire relationship from us for most of a year! Doesn't that bother you?" This is insane—how can they be so…so…_cavalier_ about this? Like it's not bad enough to find out about Monica and Chandler by seeing him…

Yuck. Just gross. There are some things in this world that you never want to see, and your best friend feeling up your little sister is one of them.

"Of course it _bothers_ me, Ross! I'm Monica's best friend and she didn't tell me about this super important relationship, but what am I supposed to do about it? Being offended about it isn't going to change anything."

"They should have told us about it!" I declare, feeling self-righteous.

"Yeah, because you're handling it so well," Joey mumbles.

"Excuse me?"

"Look at how you're reacting—you can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing if they'd told you right away; Phoebe and Rachel immediately decided to screw with them. Can you blame them for not wanting to tell us?"

I sigh, taking another sip of my beer. "Fine, but they still could have told us after they'd been together for a couple of months, you know?"

Joey just shrugs. "It's their business, dude. They don't have to tell us anything."

"Yeah, but it must've been hell hiding it from us for all this time," Rachel says, and it's nice to feel like she's on my side with this. "They couldn't be a couple, like, _ever_. They should have just let us know."

"It wasn't our call."

"I can't _believe_ you're so laid back about this," I finally exclaim. "You've been keeping it a secret for months—hasn't it been killing you?"

He shifts a little uncomfortably. "Maybe. I mean, it's _huge_ and it's so, so great, and I'm really happy for them, but if I hadn't figured it out, I'd get over them not telling me."

I look at Joey dubiously._ "You_ figured it out."

"Hey, I know stuff," he tells me, sounding offended.

"You're telling me," Rachel says, also looking doubtful, "that you wouldn't be at all upset if this is the way you found out?"

"It's not like they came out and told me. They went away to Atlantic City together and told the same stories when they got back. I was surprised but I was still happy for them. They're my friends and they're happy—isn't that what matters?"

"Yeah, I guess," I mumble, and it should be what matters. For the first time in a long time, my sister's happy; looking back, it's easy to see that she's been that way for a while now. I should have seen it.

Though, in all fairness, I've been dealing with a failed marriage and an eviction amongst other things for the past eight months, so I've been a little distracted.

Wait…eight months…

"How long did you say they've been together?"

"Eight months," Rachel answers. "Why?"

"When _exactly_ did they hook up?"

Joey and Rachel's eyes grow wide and they stare at each other for a couple of seconds. "Uh…" she sputters, shifting uncomfortably on the barstool.

"I can tell you when it _wasn't_, and it _definitely_ wasn't at your wedding," Joey says forcefully, and I stand up again in shock.

"London?! They got together in London? They hooked up at my wedding?"

Joey stands up to get another beer, carefully walking out of arm's reach. "Technically, I think it was the night before."

A quick moment flashes before my eyes—me bursting into Chandler's room the morning of my wedding to Emily and him blinking sleepily, surprised to see me, his arm stretched out across the bed. At the time, I was too excited to be getting married to think about much of anything, but I'm pretty sure Chandler was shirtless—after rooming with him for four years in college, I know for a fact that he always sleeps in at least a t-shirt—and…was that a lump in the bed next to him?

Did I walk in on him and Monica?

Oh, my God, EW!

She was there?!

She had to be—it was barely eight in the morning, and if they hooked up the night before…

_Gross_.

And I'm going to _kill_ Chandler.

The apartment door swings open, Monica leading in her _boyfriend_, both of them looking much more put together than a few minutes ago.

"Hey, Ross," she says tentatively, and I notice her fingers are twined with his, his other hand on her hip. "So, you probably have some questions…?"

"_London_!" I exclaim. "It happened in London? You were in bed with him when I ran into his room that morning?"

As one, they back against the door jam, both looking terrified. Chandler takes a quick glance at the number on his front door and smiles at me awkwardly.

"Nope! Wrong apartment!" He tugs at Monica's hand and they disappear across the hall, the chain lock sliding into place before I can get over there. I bang on the door and rattle the handle.

"Come out here, Chandler!" I can't _believe_ he did that to my sister in London! Does he have no self-control?

"We'll talk to you in the morning, Ross," Monica's voice calls from the other side of the door, and I try twisting the knob again. No no no no no. "We'll talk to you in the morning" means that he's going to be staying with her for the night and I am not equipped to handle that. He doesn't need to sleep with her—he has his own bed…

"Ew! Guys! I've been sleeping on the couch for months! Don't tell me you've been…fooling around in his room all this time."

Silence. The sort of silence that means they're standing right on the other side of the door.

"Monica, please, _please_ don't tell me you've been sneaking past me at night," I groan, feeling physically ill.

More silence. I look at the bottom of the door and can see shadows shuffling. "We'll talk to you in the morning," she says again, and that's all the answer I need. I raise my fist to pound on the door again when I feel someone grab my arm.

"Dude," Joey says, giving me a yank. "You're freaking out the neighbors."

"But…" I say as he drags me back in to his apartment.

"Just let it go for now. Talk to them when you've calmed down."

Yeah—like that's gonna happen any time soon. My best friend has been defiling my little sister for months and for a lot of that time, it's been right under my nose. It's just gross.

I look at the door to Joey's apartment; even though it's closed, I know Chandler and Monica are just feet away, doing who knows what.

No—they're probably pretty freaked out right now, too. At least I have that.

I just have to make sure I stand outside the door every night so they can never have sex again.

Seems like a plan.

* * *

><p>*AN…thank you so much for the enthusiasm for this idea! Full disclosure: it's not just to include you guys, though it's obvious you have lots of ideas and I love it, but it's to help me when I start to feel stuck. But, judging by the responses I've gotten so far, there are lots of parts of their story that we didn't get to see, and lots of aspects I never considered, so feel free to shoot me a message if something hits you.

Also, someone asked if this is going to be in sequence and definitely not. This is going to go all over the place and probably shift POVS frequently.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm crazy. I know I'm crazy.

I also know that there's no logical reason why I can't accept the fact that I'm not good at giving massages. I've never trained for it. I've really only rubbed a few backs in my life.

…I guess it's obvious now why.

I can't help myself, though. I'm stupidly competitive and can't handle not being the best at everything.

Chandler's so good to me, though. He made up all that crap about me being the best at giving the worst massages just so I'd feel better.

Okay—I know he didn't make up the part about me not being good at it, but the stuff about the award. He did it all so I wouldn't feel bad.

How many women are lucky enough to have a guy do that?

I smile and tighten my arms around Chandler's shoulders.

Most of them aren't. I don't think most guys would first lie about liking a horrible massage, then make up a bunch of crap just to calm down their hyper, control-freak girlfriend.

I am so lucky.

I love him so much.

I think he must love me, too, at least a little to go through all this hassle.

I am a _lot_ of work. I don't know how he does it.

"Thank you," I finally whisper.

"For what?"

I kiss his cheek and step back from him, sliding my hands down to his upper arms, giving them a little squeeze. "For putting up with me. I know I can be tough to take sometimes."

He just smiles at me, running a finger down my cheek. "You're worth it."

I cringe and shake my head; he makes a face back at me.

"Not the right thing to say, is it?" I shake my head again and he sighs. "It sounded so good in my head. Out of curiosity, what _is_ the right thing to say in that situation?"

"You should probably reassure me that I'm not tough to take."

"Even though you just admitted that you are?"

I laugh at him sympathetically, patting his chest. "No one ever said girls were easy, honey. If it makes you feel any better, we drive ourselves crazy with this sort of behavior, too."

He looks at me doubtfully. "Really?"

"Oh, my God, yes. Our brains literally sabotage us. I mean, you could say, 'Monica, you look nice today,' and instead of saying, 'Thank you,' I'll go right to, 'Don't I look nice every day?' It's a horrible existence."

He reaches out and grabs my hands, playing with my fingers. "So guys are basically damned if we do, damned if we don't?"

"I'm sorry to say," I tell him regretfully.

"How about this? Even if you were the most impossible woman on the planet, you'd be worth the effort."

"That's not bad." I give his fingers a squeeze. "But seriously…thank you. I know I get a little crazy about some stuff, but I really appreciate that you try so hard to make me feel better."

He grins at me, looking like a little boy. "Did I make you feel better?"

I roll my eyes and step away from him. "I guess. A little." I shuffle my feet for a moment, looking back at him. "Do my massages really suck?"

His eyes grow wide and he looks wildly uncomfortable. "Uhhh…I don't think I ever said that they 'suck,' per se. I just…"

I punch his arm lightly; he winces anyway. "Forget I asked."

"I can give you a huge list of all the things I think are great about you."

"Honey, you don't have to—"

"You're smart," he interrupts. "You're funny, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever known to exist. You're warm and caring; you love your friends with your whole heart. You take care of all of us. You put up with _me_ for some reason, and that makes you the strongest person in the world." I try to interrupt him—I want to let him know just how wonderful he is and that he's not anything I feel like I have to put up with, but he just keeps going. "You're the greatest. Maybe it's stupid, but I like that you're not the absolute best at this one thing—it makes you feel a little less perfect."

"Chandler, I'm anything but perfect."

"You're pretty damn close," he answers, wrapping his arms around my waist. "You're the closest _I've_ ever known….you're wonderful."

My insides feel like they're going to burst out of me from happiness. Maybe it's not an outright confession of love, but it's good enough for me right now.

"I like putting up with you," I tell him, resting my ear against his chest.

His hands stroke my back gently, and I feel him kiss the top of my head. "Thank you. So…are we okay?"

"We're okay," I tell him. "We're better than okay."

I feel him look down to me and I tilt my head up to him. His lips press against mine; my body relaxes into his as he kisses me, and I can't help but think about how lucky I truly am. Chandler's been dealing with me for years and I haven't managed to scare him away with any of my idiosyncrasies or quirks or craziness. He's stronger than he realizes, and I intend to hold onto him for as long as I possibly can.

The door creaks open and Chandler and I break apart from each other as quickly as we can; he takes a couple of large steps and manages to lean against the couch as I turn to the sink and grab a sponge, wiping off the counter as Rachel walks in to the apartment, Ross right on her heels.

"Hey, guys," I say, trying to wipe the smile off my face. They barely greet me as they walk into the living room. I put the sponge in its holder and turn to face Chandler. He grins at me as I walk over to the couch, his hand rubbing my back for just a second before he sits down on the couch next to Rachel. I bite my lip and sit in the cuddle chair.

Sometimes, it's really great having such oblivious friends.


	4. Chapter 4

I don't remember booking a seat next to Monica for the flight home.

I mean, I'm sure I must have because our tickets show that we're sitting side by side, and I'm also sure that a month ago, spending six hours in each other's company while trapped in a tube hurtling across the Atlantic seemed like a good idea.

Of course, that was all before we had sex.

Things are just a little different now.

I also feel like I can separate my life into two different categories now—Before Monica and After Monica. I wish I had something more eloquent, but that's the best I can do.

There was the time before I saw Monica naked, and there's the time _after_ it.

I have to say, even though there's been a lot of moments since we slept together that have been weird and awkward, I _really_ prefer life post-nudity. I had _no_ idea what I was missing.

God, she's hot.

Not just in the standard, beautiful, sexy woman way, either. But in a just so seriously, ridiculously, completely on fire kind of way.

The things she did to me that night…the things she _let_ me do to her…I've never known anything like that before.

I certainly had no idea she'd be quite so responsive or enthusiastic or…agreeable.

She did a _hell_ of a lot of agreeing with me that night.

She made noises I didn't know that someone like myself could coax from a woman. It was amazing.

_She's_ amazing.

I steal a glance at her out of the corner of my eye; she's looking straight ahead, staring off into space. All I want to do is rip that little dress off of her and do wonderfully unspeakable things to her in front of all these strangers.

I feel like I'm on the verge of insanity.

She's all I can smell, all I can feel, taste…she's perfect.

How did I not see this before?

We had sex _seven_ damn times the other night. _Seven_. That doesn't happen, at least not to me. I would think I'd still be recovering from the whole experience, but I am so very ready for more. I've been walking around in a partial state of arousal for over a day. Every time I see her now, all I can think about is how she felt against me, how soft her skin is, the smell of her hair, the way her lips feel on mine, and just the overall undeniably amazing feeling of having sex with her.

A shudder runs down my spine and I take a few deep breaths, clutching my armrests.

I want her so bad that I can't even see straight anymore.

She was into it, too. She was so into it. We agreed that we could have sex in London because it didn't count and it wouldn't ruin our friendship and we could still be okay after it.

_And everything in the world conspired against us_.

She had her own room, and somehow Rachel managed to not only beat us back to the hotel, but she found a way into the room, too. Of course, we were so anxious to get somewhere private that we may have wandered past the hotel.

Twice.

And Joey…instead of going off and rolling around with his bridesmaid wherever it was they fooled around the first time, he just had to come back to our room. Because, obviously, the world thinks that Joey needs sex more than I do. Joey gets to have sex with a different girl, on average, once a week, but I have to squirrel my seven times away for safe-keeping so that one day, years from now, when I haven't been with a woman since Monica, I can look back on that night fondly.

Seems fair.

Not that I won't always look back on that night with happiness. I just want to be able to have sex with Monica again in between. I don't think that's so outrageous.

She sighs and I dig my fingers in to the armrests; why is just that simple noise such a turn on?

Oh, right; because she made noises like that, too. She wasn't all just sexy, porn star noises; she was had quite a few gentle, soft noises, too, which, naturally, were also sexier than hell.

Oh, my God, I want her so bad that I can't stand it.

I am _not_ going to survive without her. I think I'm actually going to die. We're an hour into this plane ride, there are no exits, the most beautiful woman in the world is sitting an inch from me, and I can only think about getting her naked again.

But we can't.

We agreed; we'd only have sex in London. Because London is where it doesn't count. Obviously, all the things I'm feeling for her will somehow magically disappear once we're in New York, because in New York, we're just friends.

Friends who want each other more than anything.

At least, I think she wants me, too. She sure as hell seemed to when we were running around that hotel. I don't know why my first thought was to go to Ross's should-have-been-unused honeymoon suite—if I had taken just another second or two, I would have just suggested we get a new room. That would have been the easiest thing to do. Then we could have had sex until the sun came up.

Oh, that would have been _good_.

It just seems stupid to limit ourselves to only having sex in a foreign country. Sex that good should be experienced all the time.

I mean _all the time_. As often as possible.

I think I'm going to be sick; I've never ached with desire like this before.

How could I not know that once with Monica would never be enough?

Well, one night, at any rate.

Still—it wasn't enough. I don't know if there would ever be enough.

I'd sure as hell like the chance to find out, though.

What I wouldn't give for a chance to run my hands up her thighs, to kiss my way down her body, to…

I have to stop myself there. That particular train of thought can't lead to anything good me right now.

As it is, my groin feels like it's starting to tighten uncomfortably.

I need her again. I need her again so badly I can't stand it. There _has_ to be some way to convince her that hooking up with me again wouldn't be the worst idea.

I just don't know what it is.


	5. Chapter 5

My hand reaches out for Chandler's and his fingers give mine a squeeze even as he laughs obnoxiously at yet another lame joke.

This boss of his is really a piece of work; his wife isn't much better.

If they slap his ass one more time, I might explode.

He looks over at me and winks, and I step into his side. For whatever reason, he wanted to come to this office party, and it seemed important to him that I be by his side. So, I'll suck it up and laugh my new laugh when he does.

I take another sip of my drink, the ice rattling in the glass, and Chandler jumps to attention. "You need another one, honey?"

I almost tell him that I can get it, but then I notice the desperate look in his eyes; he's eager to get away from his boss. He excuses us and steers me toward the open bar, groaning into my ear.

"We could leave, you know," I remind him softly.

"Haven't been here long enough," he answers. "It'll be rude if we leave too early."

My head lolls back and I sigh. "We've been here for_ever_."

"It's been forty-five minutes, babe."

My head snaps up and I look at him incredulously. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I will joke about many things up to and including any situation that most would deem inappropriate. What I will not do is joke about how this party seems to be stretching into eternity. Beer please," he says to the bartender, who just nods politely.

"Could I have another—"

"Scotch on the rocks with a twist?" the bartender asks, smiling at me.

"Yes, please," I answer, and Chandler gives the guy an odd look, but only thanks the man for our drinks before putting his hand on my back to guide me away.

"What a jerk," he mumbles.

"Excuse me?"

"That guy. He was totally hitting on you in front of me."

I roll my eyes, nudging him with my hip. "Chandler, you're crazy."

"Oh, really? Then how did he remember your drink?"

"Sweetie, that's his job. He remembers what people drink."

"Well, maybe he should remember pretty women's drinks a little less," he mumbles, pouting. I put my drink down on a table and take his face in my hands.

"Chandler, I _only_ have eyes for you. It doesn't matter how many guys look at me or remember my drink or whatever. I'm here with _you_. Nothing's gonna change that."

He grins at me, looking at me from under his eyelashes. "Public display of affection alert," he warns me, leaning in for a quick kiss. A moment later he sighs, glancing around the room. "Over there." He points to a corner that looks fairly quiet and unobtrusive. I grab my drink as he puts his hand on my back again, both of us keeping an eye on Doug and his wife as we try to avoid them.

"So, let me ask you a question," I say as he leans against a window ledge. "Why did we come to this thing if you're trying so hard to avoid the people you work with?"

"Because I don't like the people I work with, Mon."

"Yeah, I get that. I guess the questions remains—why are we even here?"

He sighs heavily, putting his beer down on the ledge next to him, his hands going to my waist. "It's good for business for me to mingle. I may not like this job, but I like getting paid, so I need to come to these things and schmooze from time to time."

"I hate to break it to you, honey," I tell him, putting my drink next to his. "But hiding in the corner isn't exactly 'schmoozing'."

"I know, but I've put in an appearance. I've talked to people, they know I'm here. I'm hoping we can hide out for a while and head home after an appropriate amount of time. I'll probably have to talk to a few more people on the way out, but this is the only thing I can think of to make this night tolerable. Well, that and you."

I move in between his legs, wrapping my arms around his neck. I kiss his ear and he lets out a breath, his arms wrapping loosely around my hips. "This is a really lame date," he mumbles into my shoulder.

I just shrug. "It's nice to be a couple in front of other people like this," I tell him. "We never get to do that."

"Yeah, but we get so little time together as it is; you deserve to go somewhere nice."

"Well, you want to hear something incredibly cheesy?"

"Always," he confirms.

"It doesn't matter to me where we are as long as we get to spend time together."

"Oooooh," he says, and I pull my face out his neck, grinning at him. "That _is_ cheesy."

I laugh and shift in his arms, turning around so my back is pressed to his chest. He tightens his arms around me, his chin resting on my shoulder. "But seriously; I really just want to spend time with you. The rest is just details."

He twines his fingers through mine, squeezing me gently. "Thank you for being here tonight."

"Any time. But out of curiosity, how long do we have to stay at this snoozefest?"

He's silent for a few moments, and I can only imagine what he's not telling me. "At least another hour."

I groan loudly before I can muffle myself. "_Please_ tell me that I'll get sex at the end of the night."

"After putting up with this? That's the least you'll get."

"Well, that's something," I answer. We hear loud, raucous laughter and look up—it looks like the party's expanding, heading in our general direction. Chandler's boss is at the forefront. He hasn't spotted us yet, but I'm sure it won't take long.

I grab my scotch off the ledge and take a large gulp, wincing as it hits the back of my throat. "I think I'm gonna need a few more drinks."


End file.
